


Bookstores

by cecilantro



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-16
Updated: 2018-05-16
Packaged: 2019-05-07 18:34:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,623
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14676963
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cecilantro/pseuds/cecilantro
Summary: Molly shadows Caleb to a bookstore, and falls asleep.





	Bookstores

Caleb has a new shadow. Nott has separated herself, a little, off to do her own thing now that she knows she isn’t the last line of defence between Caleb and lying face down in a ditch somewhere, bleeding out.   
So Caleb’s new shadow goes by the name Mollymauk, and is really more like an excited puppy than anything.   
He follows Caleb into a tall bookstore, up the stairs, completely silent. It’s uncharacteristic, really, Molly being quiet, but he seems quite happy and content to the amicable atmosphere. He doesn’t feel the  _ need _ .   
Caleb has been here for hours every day, the past three days. And of those three, Molly has been with him for two- Yasha took day two, Molly took Fjord out on a date to a nice café.    
Nott’s recommendation, actually, a small, family-run business in a quiet area of town, but one with pretty hanging baskets and flowers. Fjord had flushed as Molly led him in by the hand, and had only darkened as the date went on, even over the delicate floral tea that he didn’t have the heart to tell Molly he doesn’t like. Tiny cakes and tea, and Mollymauk was rewarded with a night in of quiet and solitude, just him and Fjord, and a promise to Caleb that Molly would join him in the morning.   
As quiet as Molly’s night had been, it had been punctuated with the snippets of conversation of Caleb. Of  _ is that something you’d be okay with? _ And  _ how do you want me to do this? _ And, of course, plenty of lamenting on whether Caleb’s interests lay solely with Fjord. And whether he’d make the first move, because the Gods only know that Fjord would never.   
So it’s left to Molly, as someone with a vested interest in both parties, to try and bring it all together.

  
He’s happy to trail up the stairs behind Caleb, he knows where he’s going. There’s no magic in this bookstore, but there’s a select amount of history, and nobody really keeps tabs on the patrons; Caleb and Molly sat for three hours just two days before, sitting and reading, and napping, in Molly’s case.   
Caleb skims over a shelf.   
“I am looking for a book entitled  _ The Age of Arcanum: Calamity _ , if they have it here. It is not something I would assume to be in the average bookstore, but anything like that…” he trails off as he reads along a title of spidery silver text. Molly nods and begins his own quick look, a skim over.   
“Here.” He finds what Caleb is looking for, exactly, a battered little book that looks like it may be third-hand, unusual for Zadash. Caleb makes a startled, excited noise, and comes to his side as he eases it out of the bookcase.   
“It is probably expensive.” Caleb observes, “If they would sell it at all. Perhaps I should read it here, but it will be a while and you…”   
Molly waves a hand.   
“I don’t mind! I enjoy watching you read, far more emotional than the usual conversation.”   
Caleb gives something like a laugh, there’s a smile, and it makes Molly smile too. He bumps his shoulder up to Caleb’s and turns, makes for the seat and waits beside it. Caleb follows.   
“There is only one chair today, they must have moved the other.” Caleb observes, and Molly rolls his eyes,   
“Just sit down and read, Caleb, I have an idea of how I’ll be comfortable.”   
So Caleb does as he’s bidden, sits and settles and wriggles into position, the intricate carvings of the wooden chair back not doing much for posture, but he finds his way.   
And Molly flumps next to him on the floor.   
The day is warm. The sunlight from the nearby window is golden, it illuminates the motes of dust as they float through the air, slowly, Molly traces one of them with his eyes as Caleb begins to read. The only noise is the distance of the city, the occasional rustle of a turning page, and their breathing.   
Molly sits, straight-backed, at least at first. As Caleb grows more invested, the sunlight begins to seep into Molly’s skin, and he grows more and more sleepy with each passing second.   
He rests his head against Caleb’s thigh, halfway to sleep, and is shocked awake only by Caleb resting his book against Molly’s horn and using his newly freed hand to gently stroke Molly’s hair, absently, as he would with Frumpkin. There’s a slight pressure as Caleb adjusts to the new position of page turning, and the hand on Molly’s hair stills, his fingers thread through locks and, when gets the hang of the page turning, he begins to stroke again. Molly hums, pleased, under his skilled hands.   
“Are you comfortable, Mollymauk?” Caleb asks him, it’s a bit of a shock, and Molly jumps under his touch. Caleb laughs, quietly.   
“This is lovely.” Molly replies, honest, and rubs his cheek gently to Caleb’s leg, “Don’t stop.”   
Caleb presses his fingers gently to the back of Molly’s head and resumes his practiced motions. Between the warmth from Caleb, the heat of the sun, and the atmosphere, Molly slowly finds it harder to keep his eyes open. The dust that dances in front of him blurs and fades as he falls asleep against Caleb, serene, impossibly content.

 

The light is fading when he wakes again, at least from outside. Caleb seems to have a new book, and is twirling a finger between changing pages to keep his dancing lights aloft. Molly stirs, and Caleb closes the book.   
“You’re awake.”   
“You let me sleep? How long have you been finished?” Molly turns to his chin is on Caleb’s thigh instead, and Caleb smiles down at him. He looks exhausted. He looks as though he’s been crying.   
“Only a couple of hours. I have been reading something else, hm…” He checks the title of the book, “Something about horses. I don’t know, the title is in Dwarvish, and I haven’t had two hands free to cast  _ comprehend languages _ , only the annotations have been in Common.” Caleb smiles at him, warm, but hurt, and Molly moves instinctively. He presses a kiss to Caleb’s thigh, where his chin had been, and Caleb stutters and freezes in shock.   
“Hm. Love you, Caleb.” Molly rests his cheek against Caleb’s thigh again, and Caleb flicks the book open again.   
“I love you too, Mollymauk.”

 

It’s full dark when they leave again. The storeowner, when they make their way downstairs, is asleep on his desk, and they’re very, very careful to avoid jostling the bell as they sneak out. It seems that the store closed some time ago, but the two of them have been so pre-occupied, they wander through the streets and appreciate the preparations for the festival.   
The back of Molly’s hand brushes Caleb’s.   
The wizard isn’t bound in bandages today, he doesn’t expect to cast anything with fire, nothing more rigorous than Dancing Lights, really. So he feels the brush, like lightning in contact, and jolts for a moment.   
“Sorry.” Molly says, quiet, and Caleb sighs, slow and calm.   
He’s careful as he reaches over and takes Molly’s hand. Laces their fingers.   
“Are you not dating Fjord?” Caleb phrases his words carefully, his grip is light, he’s ready to pull away.   
“We’ve discussed it at some length, he’s aware of my feelings. And I’m aware of his.” Molly looks at Caleb from the corner of his eye and smiles at the sudden flush on Caleb’s face.   
“Am- am I to understand that Fjord, Fjord, also shares these romantic feelings for…”   
“For you, Caleb, yes. Trust me, it’s very hard  _ not _ to develop feelings for you.”   
“What are your boundaries with Fjord as of now?” Caleb halts them in the middle of the street, the lamps around them are lit and illuminate the banners of gold, red, brown.   
“As long as I don’t keep secrets from him, there are none. He’s surprisingly relaxed, I just need to keep him informed.” Molly’s smile for his partner is affectionate, warm, and Caleb smiles back without thought.   
“Then would you be opposed to a kiss?”   
“Of course not, if you want that.” Molly draws closer. Caleb shifts a hand up to trace his fingertips over Molly’s jawline.   
“Do you want that?”    
“Don’t answer the question with a question, Caleb. I do, by the way.” Molly’s level expression has the level of warmth behind it that makes it impossible for Caleb to interpret it as anything other than loving.   
“I do, too.”   
“Then what are you waiting for?”   
There’s no space left to close, their first kiss is storybook, lamp-lit, Molly is still warm with the golden sunlight of the day and Caleb’s mind is anywhere but the history he’s been absorbing, and then it is only Mollymauk. And the way that, somehow, he tastes the way that dust looks in sunlight, dancing and spun-gold and light.   
And Caleb, to Molly’s tongue, tastes like the idea of warm night by a fireplace, an old book and whiskey, the way that love feels.   
They part, the lamp above them flickers warmly, and Molly is struck by the shadows cast on Caleb’s face. There’s so much left to fix, so much left to save, and Caleb is staring up at Molly with the reverence of man seeing his god for the first time in the shape of the clouds.   
Molly isn’t Caleb’s shadow.   
Molly is Caleb’s light.   
“Let’s head back. I’m sure Fjord is dying for a cuddle pile.” Molly’s voice is muffled by the series of kisses he can’t help sharing with Caleb, and he feels the wizard smile into the last of them.   
“That sounds wonderful.”


End file.
